


Chemistry

by meandmybrokenfeels



Series: NaNoWriMo 2016 One-Shot Collection [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Chemistry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Nerd Sherlock, Rugby Captain John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-31 13:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8579965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meandmybrokenfeels/pseuds/meandmybrokenfeels
Summary: Uni!lock AU featuring nerd!lock and rugby!john. John is two years older than Sherlock, but they're in the same grade level as Sherlock skipped two. The two are paired together to work on a chemistry project, and things get off to a rocky start, but it all works out in the end.





	

If there was anything Sherlock Holmes, eighteen-year-old university third year, knew, it was chemistry. The same thing that he was sure John Watson, captain of the rugby team, knew absolutely nothing about. Sherlock was sure that being paired up with such a jock was the singular worst thing that could've happened to him in that class--including the time when he'd charred his textbook and singed his eyebrows clean off in an extra credit experiment gone slightly awry. 

Professor Lestrade was adamant that the project be done in pairs, as it was worth a quarter of their final grade and therefore far too important to be left to one (even incredibly intelleligent) student. 

“Watson will be good for you,” he said when Sherlock had complained. “You know, you don't know everything. And you don't always have to be alone.”

_What a load of rot that is_ , Sherlock thought to himself. _Alone is what I have. Alone protects me._

“So, I was thinking-” John started. 

“Funny, was that difficult for you?”

John paused. “I'm sorry?”

Sherlock didn't bother looking up from the paper he was scribbling on. “It's just that with all those knocks to the head you take, surely using it for something other than blunt force must be a bit of a shock. Are the gears attempting to turn now? Or are they still rusted in place?”

John had been warned by his teammates that the quiet kid in class could be rude, but this was ridiculous. He'd barely introduced himself to the guy, and was doing his best to be cordial, if work-oriented. “Are you always this much of a prick?”

“Yes.”

John raised his eyebrows, shocked at the other boy’s bluntness. “Alright then.”

Sherlock paused a moment, leveling his gaze to meet John’s, their height difference not as apparent while sitting down. “Let's get one thing perfectly clear. There is a reason I am at the top of my class and at least two years younger than most people in it, and that is because I am the best.”

“And here I thought it was because your family had connections,” John muttered under his breath, instantly regretting it upon seeing the look that crossed Sherlock’s face. 

“Mycroft’s connections have nothing to do with my intellect, and I will not speak of it any further.” Sherlock gritted his teeth as he returned to furiously writing, pen shaking from the intensity of his grip. 

“Look, I-”

“You will not touch my work, you will not give any input, and you _will. not. mention. my. family_. Is that clear?”

John, while certainly curious about what might've caused such a reaction, chose to settle for the second most intense emotion he was feeling: annoyance. “Fine. Whatever. As long as you put my name on it at the end, I don't care.”

“Then it's settled. I'll do this, and you will go away. Farewell.” Sherlock didn't even have the decency to look up as he dismissed his partner.

~~~

“Whoa man, are you okay?” Mike Stamford, one of John’s teammates, asked after practice. “You’ve been acting a bit more aggressive than usual.”

“I’ll try to take that as a compliment,”John joked through a grimace. “It’s that arsehole, Holmes. He thinks he can get away with anything. Entering university at 16 doesn’t make you in charge of everything.”

Mike smiled sadly. “You know, he doesn’t exactly have it easy. You should try to imagine others complexly.”

“That doesn’t give him an excuse to be such a prick. I think I liked him better when he wasn’t saying anything.”

“But didn’t you ever wonder why?” Mike asked. “He’s all alone, he’s got to be scared.”

John, set in his frustration, didn’t want to think about him like that, but he trusted Mike’s insight, so he begrudgingly paused to consider it.

“Poor chap. But really, if he wants friends, he should try actually being decent to people.”

“I’m not sure he wants them, though,” Mike said thoughtfully.

“Well then, why should I bother?”

“Just because somebody doesn’t want friends doesn’t mean they don’t need them.”

~~~

Professor Lestrade caught up with John after class the next day, calling him over as he was about to leave. “Is there a reason you spent today on your mobile instead of getting any work done?”

John hated being chastised by authority, especially when it really wasn’t his fault. “Blame that Holmes character. He insisted on this.”

Lestrade looked somewhat discouraged before sending John on his way. Curious, the rugby star hesitated just outside the door in an attempt to hear what might be said inside.

“You have to work together.”

“I don’t work with anyone, _Gavin_.”

“It’s _Greg_ , thank you very much, and still Professor Lestrade to you. I’d hate to imagine what your brother would think if he heard of what you’ve been-”

“Mycroft isn’t in charge of me.”

“Oh, really?”

There was silence for a few moments, and John thought the conversation over, but just as he was about to leave, he heard a few soft words.

“I prefer to be alone.”

He paused, waiting to see if there would be a response.

“No you don’t. If you did, you would’ve studied at home. You may work to keep those walls up, but one of these days, someone is going to come along and you’ll wish you’d built a gate.”

~~~

Later that day, John’s mobile buzzed with a message.

_221B Baker Street. Come at once, if convenient. SH_

A moment later, it buzzed again.

_If inconvenient, come anyway._

~~~

John stood in front of the flat nearly hidden among the storefronts of the fairly busy street. Steeling himself, he knocked on the door. It was soon opened by a happy-looking older woman who smelled faintly of tea and fresh biscuits. _Does he live with his mother? Or, grandmother? Or have I just been sent to a strange door to see if I would do it? Is this all a prank?_

“I’m sorry, I’m looking for Sherlock Holmes? I’m a classmate of his at the university,” John explained.

The woman looked delighted. “Oh! Come in, I’ll show you right up to his room.” She ushered John inside and closed the door before bustling up the stairs. “Sherlock never gets any visitors. His brother used to pop by every now and again, but it’s been quite a while.”

She continued to chatter on as they approached a door, her words not doing much to boost John’s confidence or lessen his confusion.

Her knock was met with a noise that could only be described as an indifferent grunt. She opened the door to reveal a what might have been the messiest sitting room ever. The desk was covered in stacks of newspapers, there were textbooks and notebooks strewn haphazardly along the carpet, and one of the two armchairs had Sherlock’s open backpack nearly upside down upon it. The only open--and somewhat clean--area of the room was around the window, containing nothing but a music stand and an old but elegant violin leaning against the wall.

The woman clucked her tongue disapprovingly as she led John into the cramped flat. He now spotted the man of the hour--Sherlock had set up shop at the kitchen table. Pens and papers were spread over most of it, with a couple having fallen to the floor. He was wearing goggles and gloves, and pinching a strange blob in a pair of tweezers.

“Now, Sherlock, what have I told you about doing these experiments in the kitchen! And when you have a guest, as well,” she chided him.

Sherlock glanced up to see John standing awkwardly next to the woman. “Ah, Mrs. Hudson, I see you’ve met John Watson. Now, if you would be so kind as to leave us, we do have work to attend to.”

Mrs. Hudson sighed in a way that suggested she’d tried and failed at arguing with him before. “I’ll just leave you two, then. I’ll be bringing up a spot of tea in a few minutes, if the whole place isn’t burned to the ground by then.” She turned and headed back out to the hallway, patting John’s shoulder kindly before disappearing.

John stood still for a few moments, still struggling to take everything in. “You live here?” he asked. 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked at him. “Can you imagine me living in a dormitory? Yes, I live here. Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, is a friend of the family.”

“And you summoned me here to…”

“I thought that would be obvious. We were assigned to work on this together, were we not?”

“But, you said-”

“Ah, what's past is prologue. Now, let's get a move on. We haven't the time to waste.”

Sherlock looked… not giddy, perhaps… eager? It was different, and a bit unsettling to witness. John wanted to ask what had brought on this change, but he assumed it was from the chat with Lestrade, and he didn’t want to bring that up.

“How did you get my number?”

“Are you sure you want to know the answer to that question?” Sherlock asked. “I’ll tell you, it wasn’t as difficult as one might think.”

John decided to quickly change the topic. “So, what exactly-”

“-is the project?” Sherlock finished for him, eyes trained on some bubbling liquid in a beaker. “So glad you asked. You see…”

John was overwhelmed at first, but when his eyes fell on the notes next to him, he began to understand. When he stated as such, Sherlock actually looked surprised. 

“How did you…”

John shrugged, scanning the other sheets of paper near him. “I’m pre-med, I know a lot about this.”

Sherlock paused, staring intently at nothing for a few moments before shaking his head slightly and focusing on the project. 

John was about to speak when the pair was interrupted by the return of Mrs. Hudson. “I’ll just leave this here for you two. Have fun! And do try not to destroy anything this time,” she said, setting down a tray of tea and biscuits on a small side table.

“Yes, thank you,” Sherlock said, sounding indifferent, but John thought he caught a hint of affection. He wasn’t sure.

The rest of the afternoon passed almost uneventfully, apart from a few near-catastrophes expertly avoided. As the sun began to go down, John realized he hadn’t eaten in hours, excluding the two biscuits from when he’d first arrived. Sherlock hadn’t had any of those, and who knew when he’d had a meal beforehand. 

“I should go and get a bite to eat before I head home,” he mused, standing up and stretching his cramped limbs. “I can pick something up for you, if you’d like,” he offered, not exactly sure why. They’d settled into a kind of groove for working together, but were they close enough to-

“Actually, I was thinking of going out,” said Sherlock, standing as well. “There’s a nice place not too far from here. I know the owner. I would like to--to treat you.” He averted his eyes and coughed once. “That is, if you’d like.”

Mike’s voice rang through John’s head. He’s all alone; he’s got to be scared. “Sure,” he said. Sherlock started slightly, looking back at John again. “Let’s go.”

~~~

The pair strolled along in a surprisingly comfortable silence until they reached a diner. It was a bit out of the way, and the dinner rush had come and gone, so there weren’t many people there. As they entered, a loud voice boomed from the back.

“Sherlock!”

“Angelo!” Sherlock responded, and John saw him smile for the first time. _Wow_.

“Ah, I see you brought a date! Come, come, by the window. Best seat in the house for my little Holmes,” the large Italian man insisted, ushering them towards a table for two. A waiter appeared, placing a basket of bread in the middle and glasses of water at each seat. 

“Thank you, Angelo,” Sherlock said graciously, sitting down. He gestured for John to do the same.

Menus were pushed into their hands. “Anything you want, on the house. You will have a lovely date!” said Angelo, swiftly retreating to the kitchen, presumably to give them some alone time.

“I’m not his date!” John called out after him, but his efforts were futile.

“Well,” said Sherlock as he opened his menu, “aren’t we lucky tonight.” He glanced up to see John studying him curiously. “Go on, pick something. You heard him, it’s on the house.”

John opened his menu but he couldn’t bring himself to focus on it. “You smiled.”

“Hm?”

“Just now. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.”

Sherlock shrugged, still scanning the menu. “Yes, well, that is the customary greeting when one is being friendly towards you, isn’t it?”

“So, you and Angelo are friends?” John asked.

“No. I don’t have _friends_.” Sherlock seemed to grimace at the word.

John had questions, and he figured now was as good a time as any to ask them. 

“Really? Not one?” he prodded.

“Nope,” Sherlock answered, turning the page to inspect the desserts.

“No girlfriend, either?”

Sherlock paused, raising his eyebrows at John. “Girls… Not really my area of expertise.”

There was a moment of silence before: “No boyfriend, I presume? Which is fine, by the way.”

“I know it’s fine,” Sherlock answered too quickly. “Um, no. No boyfriend.”

“Huh.” John, satisfied, thumbed through the menu.

“John, I-”

Sherlock was cut off by Angelo’s return. “Are the lovebirds ready?” he asked, pen and paper in hand.

The two ordered, and John sipped his water as he waited for Sherlock to continue what he had started to say. 

Sherlock took a deep breath. “John, I wanted to bring you here to say thank you.”

“For what?” John asked.

“For coming today. I know I can be… _difficult_. Most people wouldn’t work with me. But you did, and for that I’d like to say thank you.” The two looked at each other for a few moments. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“You’re smiling at me.”

“Am not,” John retorted, his smile growing. 

“Shut up,” Sherlock muttered, staring out the window and taking a long drink from his glass. It could’ve been a trick of the light, but John thought he saw some pink rising in the other boy’s cheeks.

~~~

There were no more problems between the two in Advanced Chemistry, and whenever John wasn’t in class or at practice, he could often be found at 221B. Due to Sherlock’s natural efficiency, aided by John’s resourcefulness, they completed the project several days before it was due. Still, John continued to spend his afternoons at the flat. Sherlock helped him with his homework, and he helped remind the boy to eat. Mrs. Hudson had taken to always bringing up two cups of tea, prepared just how each of them liked it. Sometimes she would stay for a while and chat; she quickly became one of John’s favorite things about the place.

Not his absolute favorite, however. That title was reserved for the brilliant arsehole who had called him there in the first place.

The change didn’t go unnoticed. Whenever any of his teammates attempted to make fun of the ‘freak’, John was quick to correct them, usually driving the point home by having them run laps. Some of the team grumbled about it, some whispered, Mike smiled. 

“You know, I do believe that Holmes fellow has been less rude lately,” he commented one day.

“Oh, really?” John asked, idly wondering where the conversation was headed.

Mike nodded. “And there was a rumor going around that he actually _complimented_ someone.”

“No!” John gasped dramatically before rolling his eyes. “So?”

“John, something’s going on. What’s the deal with you two?” 

John shrugged. “Nothing. We’re just…” He paused, realizing what he was about to say. “Friends.”

Mike grinned. “Congratulations. I do believe you’re the first to bear that title.”

John thought about that as he headed over to Sherlock’s. _Friend_.

~~~

John had his own chair at the flat. He also had a mug, a spare key, and a change of clothes for nights when they lost track of time.

He was sitting in that chair, drinking from that mug, when it happened.

“Sherlock,” he began, getting the attention of the younger boy sitting across from him, “you once said that you don’t have friends.”

“That’s true,” Sherlock said, breaking John’s heart. “I don’t have friends.” He looked away. “I’ve only got one.”

His meaning caught up with John, who grinned and lifted a leg to try to reach him. “You’re a bloody idiot.” Sherlock moved his long legs out of reach as the two laughed, and John relished in the sight of the smile he was gradually getting to see more and more of.

“Why did you bring that up?” Sherlock asked once their laughter had subsided. The two had landed each with their head on one armrest and their legs on the other, lying across the chairs and facing one another.

“I just wanted to know if I was your friend.”

Sherlock looked confused. “Of course you’re my friend. You should know, you’ve got plenty.”

John let out a dry chuckle. “None quite like you, Sherlock.”

“Well I mean there really isn’t anyone quite like me, now, is there,” said Sherlock fake-haughtily.

John smiled as he watched the other boy. “No, there isn’t.”

~~~

Once a week the pair would end up at Angelo’s. It became their own little tradition. They had their usual table, usual order, and usual banter with the owner. The routine was calming, especially after a stressful week of classes.

One evening at the end of the semester, the pair entered the diner and made their way to their seats. 

“Ah, date night!” Angelo greeted them, arriving with water glasses. 

“This isn’t just any night,” said John, beaming. “You’re looking at the top two students in Advanced Chemistry,” he informed the man.

“We just got our final grades,” Sherlock explained, grinning.

“This is great news!” Angelo congratulated them. “This calls for a celebration,” he said, disappearing into the back. He soon returned with a bottle of champagne, which he poured into two flutes for the students. “A toast!” he cried, raising the bottle.

“To chemistry,” said Sherlock, raising his glass.

“To you,” said John, lifting his glass to meet the other. 

The two drank. Angelo clapped before retreating to ready their meals. 

“Why did you toast to me?” Sherlock asked.

“Are you kidding? I’m good at chemistry, but you’re fantastic. I never would’ve gotten nearly as good of a grade if it hadn’t been for you,” John praised him. 

Sherlock blushed. “I’m sure you would’ve been fine.”

John sat and thought for a moment. “Do you remember the first time we came here?”

“Yes, why?”

“I asked…” John took a deep breath. “I asked if you had a boyfriend.”

Sherlock was quiet for a bit. “John, are you-”

“I get it if you’re ace, or you’re not looking, or you don’t want _me_ , I just thought I’d try, I’m sor-”

He was cut off by soft lips on his own. He froze for a second before deepening the kiss, running his hands through dark curls. He felt Sherlock’s light touch on his cheeks grow more insistent, pulling John closer, closer. It felt like bliss, like Heaven, like _living_ , and John never wanted to let go.

~~~

“How long have you fancied me?” John asked his boyfriend. The two lay tangled together on the  
sofa at 221B, holding hands as John’s head rested on Sherlock’s chest.

“Probably since the day you nearly burned my flat to the ground,” Sherlock joked.

“Hey! That was definitely your fault,” John accused him.

Sherlock chuckled. “How long have you fancied me?”

John thought. “The same day. I guess that was when I realized you were more than just a pretentious arsehole.”

“Do you ever wonder how the two of us ended up together?” Sherlock asked, looking down at his boyfriend with love.

John smirked. “I don’t know, I suppose it was inevitable. I mean, we did have chemistry together.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a long one. I'd like to thank my friend Taylor for yelling at me to finish it, as well as my coworkers for helping me brainstorm ideas. I love this pairing so much, and definitely want to do more with them in the future.


End file.
